The end of the blog is a girl. She's nice. She's doesn't know what she believes yet. She doesn't know what she thinks of me yet. She doesn't know if she wants to meet me yet.

Sometimes, this girl turns on the computer and starts typing. There are strange things in her head. They need to be written down. She wonders about publishing them. She wonders if anyone else would read them. She wonders if they're worth writing. The thoughts leave her, and she has nothing but a line of growing poetry without a context- and a blank screen.

The girl who will end this blog likes cursors. She likes when they blink expectingly on empty pages and laughs at me when I try to defeat them. I promise I'll never stop writing if she's near me.

She doesn't know what she thinks of me yet.

The girl who will end this blog likes seeing people on the street and making up stories about them. She doesn't know how to describe herself, but she likes trying to tell what other people are. She sees couples on the streets and wonders about how long they've been dating. She predicts their future: the man will get a better job in the bank he works at downtown, the woman will meet a wonderful librarian who she loves but her parents won't let her marry.

She feels bad for the woman.

This blog will be ended by a girl. She likes new mornings (not all mornings are new), coffee in the cold, scarves that whisper 'I Love You,' and postcards from people she does not expect. She appreciates the randomness of life. She loves things not going how they were supposed to but still working out.

She smiles when she's alone for no reason at all.

( If there is no one there and she smiles, does she really smile?)

The girl who will end this blog practices suggestive winks in her bathroom mirror while she's brushing her teeth. She thinks about leaving school and going to New York or LA- to become the actress inside of her. The girl likes books, warm corners, sleeping late on rainy days, pressing her nose against the cold window when its snowing. The girl likes life and wishes that whenever she is happy she could donate some of that happiness to people in her neighborhood who need it. (When she was little she once offered her smile to sad stranger- he took and it changed his life)

The end of the blog is a girl. She's beautiful. She makes me think up situations to run into her. She makes me plan orchestrated, mediatated events where we can co-exist and she can decide what she thinks about me.

She doesn't know what she thinks of me.

She doesn't know if I am worth thinking of.